


Necromancer's Nook

by Raven_is_blue



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Major Character Undeath, Resurrected Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_is_blue/pseuds/Raven_is_blue
Summary: "Somebody had killed his wolves. Trapped them in ash and burned them to ashes. Grief wrapped his town in smoky claws and he howled into the night."
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 211
Collections: Secret Steter BFFs





	Necromancer's Nook

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TriscuitsandSoup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriscuitsandSoup/gifts).



The first time he visited this village, it wasn't even a village. Just a few tents and carts gathered in one place. He didn't want the settlers to hate him, so he didn’t tell them what he was, allowing them to assume he was simply a wandering adventurer.

But there was a girl with glorious red hair and ancient eyes and voices in her head wailing and screaming about him. So he let her touch him, and with a few words put her voices to sleep. He stayed for a few weeks, months maybe, to teach her about banshees and sirens and power of her voice.

The girl's father thanked him and the rest of the settlers fed him and let him be. He laughed with them and showed them the sacred burial places. He honored the old ones and blessed a new one. And when the night came, he went to the woods and ran with wolves.

When he visited the second time, there was the wolf in the village and the girl's voices were silent. They asked him for a blessing and he smiled for days.As the elders asked, he warded the burial places and guarded the cemetery for three days. He silenced cries and guided souls to the Great Beyond. He fixed few bones and wounds, because, as his mentor said, "flesh is flesh".

When the night came, wolves were waiting for him. And they danced under the full moon. 

He didn't even bother to pretend it was an accident when he came the third time. He felt welcome here, and would have loved to stay, yet the time wasn't right.

But, there was a cabin, halfway in the woods, that the elder gave to him and said: "We call it ‘Necromancer's Nook’.” He felt so fragile then, so human. The girl's eyes shone with joy and wolves sang for him that night.

And he came back. Again and again. Always to this little town guarding the woods, always to his wolves, always to the girls with voices in their heads.

He came again to the town he loved, but this time his soul was shredded. Somebody had killed his wolves. Trapped them in ash and burned them to ashes. Grief wrapped his town in smoky claws and he howled into the night. The girl with voices in her head wasn’t silent like her long-forgotten ancestresses. She was wailing for his wolves and her mind snapped.

He spent three days in the woods, grieving and sending his wolves in peace. He spent three days taking their pain and their deaths into his soul and he wept. Three days breathing only grief and ash. He reached for survivors, seeing only broken spirits and heavy hearts. So he let them run. He touched the girl’s mind and silenced voices and sealed banshee behind an iron door.

He laid on his bed in Necromancer's Nook and planned. Revenge and protection. He looked at the ashes on his hands and felt the sadness of his soul and he knew that is the time to stay. The next day, he found his descendant. When the night came nobody remembered the wandering necromancer.

And when the sun rose they only remembered Sheriff Stilinski's son - Stiles, who had no idea about the supernatural.

***

There is a man in a Beacon Hills hospital, in the chronic care ward, in room 447. Once unusually handsome, today he's covered with scars and burns, his dark hair covering his eyes, which once were bright and sparkling and today are only a shadow of the previous electric blue.

Stiles visited him often, sat at his bedside and read. Sometimes out loud, sometimes just to himself. The occupant of the only bed seemed indifferent.

The only thing that seemed alive was bonds between a man in a coma and two teenagers currently heading towards the West Coast. At least, the bonds were still alive yesterday. Today, one of them blackened and crumbled to dust under Stiles's watchful gaze, the other grayed and faded almost to the nothing.

That was what he was waiting for.

Nothing connected him to the past now.

It was time for Peter Hale to die.

Late at night, a shadow passed down the corridor on the fourth floor of a hospital in Beacon Hills. Invisible to anyone, noiseless, nonexistent. Slowly, it filtered into the shadows under the door of room 447, and after a short while, Stiles stood by Peter's bed.

A few words, a gesture and ... nothing happened. At least, nothing changed for the patient machines. Thanks to the spells and runes, they wouldn't notice the change until it was too late.

Stiles walked carefully to Peter's bed and cut the man's throat with a gentle, almost caressing gesture. A few more words and a small ball of blood rose from Peter, steadily surrounding Stiles and blending into the shadow under the boy's feet.

"Enough," he whispered a little to himself, a little to the dying Peter.

The shadow passing through the corridors of the hospital in Beacon Hills was perhaps a little bloody, but it didn't matter. Nobody saw him anyway.

In the morning a distraught nurse called the police. Deputy Sheriff Noah Stilinski received testimony from a jittery girl and the attending physician.

"Stiles," he called his son calmly. "Your ward is dead. Someone sliced his throat at night. Is there anything we will need to talk about?"

"Daddio! Peter is dead? This is terrible!"

"Stiles!"

"Dad, I didn't kill Peter. Well, not permanently."

He felt alive in the darkness. It reminded him of when the nights were not polluted by the insolent, bursting light of human settlements. When he was alone with the shadows. Not entirely alone, was still accompanied by despair and regret, hatred and a desire for revenge. He would burn the world for his wolves.

With gesture just as gentle as the one that ended Peter Hale's life, Stiles cut his vein. Blood trickled down to his palm, where Peter's blood was waiting for it.

He threw blood at the burnt house. It flowed down the burnt beams, wept on burnt glass, soaked in the ashes of loved ones.

Words in a language so foreign, so old that the air trembled with power, and in a nearby town the dogs raised their heads to the moon and howled in chorus.

Words shouted into the night, whispered into the ground. Words and blood.

The veil trembled in the wind with a membrane of power and will. Slowly, painfully it split, releasing a monster - a giant wolf with black fur. It bared its fangs at Stiles, growling. It took a deep breath, enormous muscles coiled, preparing to attack.

"Hello, Peter," Stiles whispered tiredly. "I'll explain everything, but I have to close all the doors first. Believe me, you don't want to fight what's coming after you."

***

He remembered.

He remembered coming home, unexpected, unplanned. He remembered the burning house and the screams, maybe from his desperate animal. He remembered the pain when the bonds broke, one after the other, proclaiming every death with fire and blood. Talia, Cavill, Olivia ... He remembered.

He remembered how this nice deputy sheriff had tried to stop him, how he growled at him and snarled, eager to release an angry animal obsessed with fear, pain, and death.

He remembered cursing the necromancer, who swore and swore to protect them. Where was he? How could he let this happen?

And then there was only darkness and rage in the night. The tethered animal was wild and lived with only one desire, one goal - revenge. If he was aware, conscious, he would know how dangerous he is becoming, maybe he would even ask Talia ... Talia! Revenge smelled of fulfillment and blood. The metallic aftertaste on his tongue, the overpowering smell. It would be done.

He accepted his death with the same wild rage as the pack's death. His resurrection with madness lurking in blue eyes, hidden deep in the soul.

When the mother told them about the necromancer, Peter was fascinated. A superhuman being, immortal, who loved wolves enough to protect this one pack only for centuries. And who trusted them enough to reveal his nature. Why didn't he stop the massacre? Why did he kill Peter? No, it was simple, even semi-conscious of fatigue and exhausted from dying, he could answer this question - you can't resurrect the living. And for some reason, the necromancer decided to resurrect him. But why?

"Why?" He asked hoarsely. He was silent for too long.

"Why did I kill you?" The boy was maybe seventeen, his face was still open and round. He didn't look like an eternal necromancer, he looked like a teenager whose biggest problem would be how to buy beer for a kegger. "Isn’t it obvious?"

"... my dear Watson. You can't revive the living. Darling boy, the question is different, why did you resurrect me?"

"Oh. Oh! Yes." The boy's amber eyes flashed with sudden understanding. "I can't cure you. I can't cure, period. Although my teacher always said that the body is the body and a dead one works the same as the living one, but he never heard of bacteria and viruses. I don’t know if you know, but viruses are not really alive, they’re just ..."

"Particles of matter." The boy was disturbingly similar to Cora. Although he spoke more than she did, curiously... Curiosity killed the cat and Cora was killed by fire. He growled.

"Yes! Yes. Well, my teacher was very old then and he thought... anyway, I can close small wounds, cure some diseases, it costs me very little, but you... You were practically dead. The only thing keeping you alive is two bonds, that are dead now."

"Laura and Derek. Did they ...", he was too afraid to ask.

"Alive! Alive." The boy assured him. "They're just afraid. You’re not afraid, you’re angry."

"You still haven't answered me," Peter growled, and this time there was a threat.

"Geez!", Stiles didn't care. "You were her Left Hand. You can kill and I thought you'd want revenge."

The fire that destroyed his pack had gone out days ago. He didn’t feel this pain anymore and he didn't burn. But a new fire had started in his soul - revenge.

He looked at the boy and for the first time saw in him the necromancer from the grandmother's story - the one who promised to protect the pack, the one who promised to kill on their behalf, and who had not kept his word.

"Let's kill some hunters, sweetheart."

***

They spent long days together, searching for an answer to the seemingly simple question ’who’. Who would want to kill a peaceful pack, a pack without enemies. So they tortured two arsonists, but the answers were the same - the information came via mail, anonymously.

So Peter burned them in the woods in the ruins of the Hale house.

All they had were bits of information, data that didn’t make sense, until one day John brought them the missing piece of the puzzle: Adrian Harris.

A brilliant, talented chemist whose life prevented him from continuing his scientific work. Who accidentally met a girl and fell in love, distracted from his original purpose. Who helped his lover burn and kill. Her name was Catherine, he cried when Peter broke his fingers. I know nothing more, he shouted as sharp claws tore the body apart. They abandoned the massacred body on the trail. Mountain lion, police said.

"Kate Argent." Peter didn't have to think long. "I knew her brother Christopher." There was a strange emotion in his voice and for a moment Stiles felt a fit of jealousy. Who wouldn’t like to be remembered with such tenderness...

"Argent. I knew them," he replied, trying to stifle unwanted feelings. When they punish the last guilty one, Peter would leave, find Laura and Derek, go back to their own little pack. Stiles would return to wandering around the world. Maybe in a few generations, he would look for Peter's children and take care of them again, as he once did when Beacon Hills wasn't even a village. "They were supposed to stick to the Code. Not to kill the innocent. Contact Christopher. "

He left the room and did not see Peter’s thoughtful eyes as they followed his departure.

Christopher did not help them. Since the birth of his daughter, Allison, he had not contacted his father or sister, fearing that they would want him to return to the hunt. Or that they would want Allison to hunt. He merely confirmed that Kate was able to burn the innocent to get rid of at least one werewolf.

They had to find Kate.

It wasn't difficult.

Miss Catherine Silver appeared as a substitute teacher in Springfield, Idaho. In the same Springfield as the home of the Conner pack.

"The Conners is a small family pack. There are less than twenty." Peter said as they rode Stilinski's well-worn Jeep.

They found Kate quickly.

They also quickly guessed how Kate knew about the tunnels under the Hale house.

"Derek," Peter whispered with rage when they noticed Kate making out with teenage werewolf, Cody Conner. It was easy for Stiles to weave a little clever trap, one that lured Kate into their lair - a little house they rented for one of Stiles’ many aliases.

Three days later, Springfield police found a dead Kate on her doorstep. Triskele was carved on the girl's chest with a sharp tool.

"It's over," Stiles whispered sadly in the wolf's ear. "You are free." He turned to leave.

"Stiles," Peter's voice carried strangely tender notes. "Stiles, my dear boy, I don't want to be free without you."


End file.
